


Probability Factor

by ShaneVansen



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: F/M, Friendship, UST, post-ep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-15
Updated: 2010-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-07 07:02:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShaneVansen/pseuds/ShaneVansen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Playing the odds.  Post-ep for <i>The Defiant One</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Probability Factor

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to LJ July 2006.

"Dr. Weir?"

Elizabeth turned away from the view of the city and surrounding ocean to face Peter Grodin, who was standing just inside the balcony doors. "Yes, Peter?"

"Lieutenant Ford just checked in. He reports that Jumpers One and Three are approximately five minutes out."

"Did he say how Dr. McKay and Major Sheppard are doing?"

"Dr. McKay apparently flew most of the way back and is doing well. Major Sheppard is refusing to have Dr. Becket meet him in the jumper bay."

Stubborn man. "Thank you, Peter."

Peter nodded and left, Elizabeth following; even if the medical team wasn't there when the teams arrived, she would be.

The bay's ceiling was just retracting as she got there and Elizabeth hovered in the doorway while the two jumpers descended and landed. She headed for the nearest puddle jumper, reaching it just as Rodney exited.

"How are you?" she asked, scanning him. He didn't appear to be injured, but there was a lingering look in his eyes that she didn't like.

"I'm fine," he said. "Better than Major Sheppard, and certainly better than Gaul and Abrams."

Ah – that explained the look. She'd only gotten a brief rundown of what had happened on the planet but from what she'd gathered, Rodney had been present when Gaul shot himself. Elizabeth could only imagine the desperation that would cause the man to take such action, and the horror of having to witness a suicide.

She reached out and grasped his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "Go see Dr. Beckett," she said kindly, and Rodney nodded and left the jumper bay without another word.

Elizabeth nodded a greeting to Ford, who was just stepping out of Jumper One, and at Teyla and the two marines from Jumper Three who were already filing out of the room. She turned back just in time to see John appear from inside Jumper One.

"Hey." His face was pale and drawn, his voice strained, but overall she thought he looked pretty good for someone who'd been shot.

"Hey. How are you feeling?"

He smiled wanly. "It's just a flesh wound," he told her. He hadn't actually answered her question, but Elizabeth was distracted from noticing by wondering exactly how many times he'd been shot in his life if he knew the difference between a flesh wound and something more serious.

They started moving, slowly, towards the infirmary, Elizabeth deliberately keeping to John's right so she didn't accidentally bump his injured arm. She refrained from asking questions since it was obvious he was exhausted, something which became all the more evident when he tripped over nothing.

Elizabeth slid her arm around his waist and looped his right arm over her shoulders, ignoring his protests. "When's the last time you slept?" she asked him. The trip had been fifteen hours each way, plus the hours they'd spent on the planet investigating the crashed ship and fighting the Wraith, and she knew he rarely slept well off-world.

"I slept a bit on the way back," he claimed, which probably meant that he'd kept only one eye on Rodney on their trip home.

Elizabeth shook her head in resignation. "You know Carson's not going to release you until you've had at least eight hours of sleep."

"Eight hours if I'm lucky," he muttered, and she suppressed a smile.

John stumbled again and Elizabeth instinctively tightened her grip, freezing when he made a strangled sound. They stopped in the middle of the hallway and she stood helplessly, not knowing what to do as he wrapped his arms around himself and gasped.

"What else is wrong?" she demanded when he had his breathing under control, and he gave her a somewhat sheepish look.

"Cracked ribs?" he offered.

She sighed. "John…." She didn't bother chewing him out for not telling her about his ribs; she knew it wouldn't do any good. Instead she carefully put her arm back around his waist to help him to the infirmary.

**

By the time Elizabeth spent some time with Rodney and talked briefly with Carson, John was already half asleep on one of the beds. "Feeling any better?" she asked.

He gave her a loopy smile, doubtlessly prompted by exhaustion or painkillers or some combination of the two. "Feelin' no pain," he told her, his words slurred.

Smiling, she patted his forearm. "Go to sleep, John. We'll talk tomorrow."

She only made it a few steps from his bed before he called her back. "'Liz'beth?"

It was strange still, she mused as she returned to his side, hearing him call her by name; it had only been a few weeks since he'd stopped calling her 'Dr. Weir'. "Yes?"

He blinked heavily, eyes only half open. "How'd y'know to send a rescue team?"

She didn't actually know how she'd been so sure something was wrong. "I was just playing the odds," she told him lightly. "You seem to have a particular knack for getting into trouble on missions."

John smiled drowsily. "'S'a gift," he mumbled, eyes drifting closed.

Elizabeth smiled too, brushing an errant lock of hair off his forehead and watching it spring right back to its original position. "Go to sleep," she repeated quietly, but his lack of response suggested he was already dead to the world. She stroked his cheek, once, and stepped back slowly.

Much as she would like to stay with John and Rodney for a little while longer, she had a city to run and funeral services to arrange.

_\--end--_


End file.
